flash fiction, poetry, and any other writcan go into the weekly lit dot catHE LIKES GIRLS WITH SMALL TITSAND MYSTERIOUS, SPONTANEOUS TATS

The Lit.cat is an online literary magazine that keeps each issue within a single, scrollable page at a reading length under half an hour. This week's issue features the most beautiful women in the world, a poem in the shape of a sigma, and four types of trout. It also features two dreams to wake up from, six year old boogers, and an argument over Scrabble. It will take around 25 minutes and 18 seconds to read in its entirety, which is conveniently the amount of time it will actually take for your roommate to be ready to leave after he says he'll be ready in two minutes.

You live in a society where at the end of each day, you can choose to relive it, but without retaining any knowledge of what happened previously. A number in your peripheral vision shows how many previous times you lived through the current day.

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Almost always that number is 0.

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When I woke in the morning, I had a few seconds of peace before a grip of fear grabbed my chest. To even breathe was a huge effort. It was barely a surprise when I saw the huge number out of the corner of my eye.

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I must have fucked up. I must have fucked up so bad.

Every.

Single.

Time.

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Before I could prepare myself properly, there was a frantic knocking on my bedroom door.

"Get dressed already! We have to go now!" Came the tense voice from the other side. Further out came the muffled sounds of panic as my family tore the house apart. You'd think with all the time we had to prepare we'd be ready. But you could never prepare for something like this.

It seemed to take hours for me to get dressed, suddenly there were buttons and clasps and things to tie everywhere, and my sister's frantic knocking wasn't helping. I was almost relieved when I finally left my room, despite it meaning that the moment was coming even closer.

Downstairs my mother was crying, she looked up as I entered, face red and half-done mascara running down one side of her face.

"You look so handsome!" She said, barely holding it together. We hugged tearfully and tightly.

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All too soon it was time to go. The car pulled up outside and I climbed in the back, my sister followed me. The car drove in near silence, only the driver tried to make a few pleasantries, but neither me nor my sister were really listening, lost in our own apprehension.

All too soon we arrived, the car smoothly pulling to a stop in front of the imposing stone building, as beautiful as it was terrifying. As I moved to exit the car and meet my fate, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked back at my sister.

"Good luck," she said, in her quiet voice. I hugged her, an odd gesture for the both of us. But then it was time and we had to go. We walked up to the massive double doors, already swung open and waiting, like a cavernous mouth waiting to eat us up.

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Then I was inside, and my eyes began to adjust, and finally I could see him. Lit up by a halo of multicoloured lights. Crying as he saw me. My heart caught in my chest, like it had every day for years. There was no doubt it had been like this for every one of the attempts at this day.

The music began to play as my sister led me up the aisle, past the rows of smiling and clapping guests. Until finally I was delivered to the altar beside the love of my life.

He caught my hand and pulled me close. Then he devilishly whispered in my ear;

"I'm on 7212 goes, how about you?"

Editors note: The Egg is a short story that I've encountered numerous times on the internet, and for good reason- it serves as a perfect myth to capture our moral sensibilities and modern imaginations. I first saw it on 4chan's /b/ board while I was in high school and immediately emailed it to myself. The author has since written The Martian; both the book and its movie adaptation I highly adore.